


Lights

by SupernaturalSlayer



Series: One Word Prompts [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Childhood Memories, Flashback, Nostalgia, One Word Prompts, Prompt Fic, Prompt: Lights, this is mostly just kind of sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-14 10:08:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28543812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SupernaturalSlayer/pseuds/SupernaturalSlayer
Summary: Driving the Impala through the mountains at night was something Dean enjoyed immensely. With no one in front of him and no one behind, the velvety blackness of tree-lined highways cradled the car, the darkness he sped through feeling safe rather than menacing. The endless world splayed out beyond the hood, down the sloping roads and into the valleys below, the glittering spangles of lights like an over-decorated house at Christmastime. When he was a child, it was one of the few peaceful moments Dean had shared with his father.
Series: One Word Prompts [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2091144





	Lights

**Author's Note:**

> Set immediately post 1x17, for prank war reasons

Driving the Impala through the mountains at night was something Dean enjoyed immensely. With no one in front of him and no one behind, the velvety blackness of tree-lined highways cradled the car, the darkness he sped through feeling safe rather than menacing. The endless world splayed out beyond the hood, down the sloping roads and into the valleys below, the glittering spangles of lights like an over-decorated house at Christmastime. 

When he was a child, it was one of the few peaceful moments Dean could remember sharing with his father. With Sammy soundly asleep in the backseat, Dean would crawl up to sit on the passenger's side of the front bench, stealing an hour or two with the dad he barely knew.

And John would talk about music or cars, baseball or movies or myths, occasionally telling stories about Mary or friends from his stint in the Marines. Sometimes they talked strategy and John worked on his training, giving him words of advice and stories of lessons learned the hard way. 

All while the cities in the distance sparkled.

The lights in Texas were the same lights in Maryland; Illinois and New York looked the same by moonlight. The traffic lights and sodium lamps that leeched the world sepia were familiar no matter what state they happened to be passing through, and the sameness was soothing in such constant change. Whether it was the far-off colorful webs of a travelling carnival or unseasonable strings of bluish icicle lights on a trailer, there was something profoundly comforting about seeing lights out there in the darkness. 

John softened in those late hours on deserted roads. Something about the dark and quiet gave him permission to act more like the father he wanted to be, and less like the drill sergeant he morphed into after Mary's death. Before he threw his life away for revenge, John had sworn he would be nothing like Samuel Campbell, would never do to his children what Mary’s father had done to her. None of that mattered anymore, not if it put him on the path toward the Yellow-Eyed Demon. Not if it kept Sam and Dean safe.

"Dad, will you tell me a story about Mom?" Dean asked quietly. 

It wasn’t long after his eighth birthday as they sped along the California coast, the lights reflected off the ocean making the frigid waves twinkle in the moonless night. 

John heaved a tired sigh, but smiled affectionately at his oldest son. Smiles like that were getting rarer all the time, and Dean soaked it in. Whatever warmth John had was usually reserved for Sam, but the rules were different during these late night talks. 

"Your Momma was the most wonderful woman I ever met. She loved to bake." John chuckled. "One Christmas, she helped bake pies for the holiday meal at the soup kitchen. She baked all day, every day, for a week. Ferried dozens of pies down there. As a thank you, they made her a giant card shaped like a slice of pie, and asked all the people who ate some to sign it. She cried when the volunteers brought it to the house." John's voice cracked, his eyes shining with unshed tears.

A tiny, warm hand landed on John's arm, Sam’s small voice piping up from the backseat, "S'okay Daddy, Momma's in heaven now, makin' pies for the angels!" 

Sammy couldn’t have been more than four. Dean and John cracked up, and Sam giggled along with them. Only Dean saw the tears finally roll slowly down his cheeks, the streetlights making them glow before they disappeared. 

Dean shifted in the driver’s seat, urging the Impala a little faster to try and shake off the old memories. John was gone, _again_ , who the hell knew where. He glanced over at his brother, asleep on the bench seat next to him. Sam always looked like an overgrown child with his long hair, but even more so when he slept, his face smooth and untroubled. His lips were curled up in a gentle smile, head pillowed on his arm against the door. 

Much as Dean loved Sam and knew he could probably use the rest, there was only so much melancholy Dean could take in one night. He fumbled as quietly as he could to switch out cassettes as they crossed the state line, glancing over the scribbled titles until he found the one he wanted.

Dean suddenly twisted the volume knob, "Devil Went Down to Georgia" screaming from the speakers. Sam bolted upright and smacked the top of his head on the roof of the car, Dean cackling at his brother's shocked expression, lit up intermittently by the streetlights on the sides of the road. 

**Author's Note:**

> If you have a prompt you want written, come drop me a line on [tumblr](https://cas-loves-dean.tumblr.com/).


End file.
